Don't Worry
by Deidara97
Summary: John decides to check in on Sherlock before leaving on holiday with Mary, but is less than pleased with what he finds. Set before TSO3. Fluffy borderline Johnlock. Rated for Language.


"Ahem, everything alright?" I hesitantly cracked the door open and peered into the darkness. A low groan piqued my curiosity, forcing me to tiptoe into the bedroom.

"Of course everything's alright. Why _wouldn't_ it be alright?" The frustration was audible even through the muffle of the pillows. As my eyes adjusted, I saw him lying on the bed, face down, sheets falling to the floor, dressing gown haphazardly strewn about his lanky figure. Does he already know? Makes me feel a bit guilty, this.

"Well, it's half past 3 in the afternoon, and you haven't stepped a foot out of bed."

"What are you doing here, John?" Disorderly curls ruffled as he spoke.

"Well, I was just going to tell you I'm going to be out for a while. Mary and I are taking a holiday, but you wouldn't answer your phone, so…"

"How long?"

"…Would you like to know where we're going?"

"Are you leaving London?"

"Well, yes… It _is _holiday…"

"Then it doesn't matter. How long?" The guilt I had for leaving him suddenly withered.

"…five days… four nights."

"Off you go then." I let out a sigh to control my irritation.

"I haven't even told you when I leave."

"You're headed to the airport after you leave here. Mary's got the bags taken care of, I presume since you haven't got any with you." His ruffled hair was still buried in the pillows. I hadn't seen those crystalline eyes in ages, it seemed. I took a few steps closer until I was standing about arm's length from his bed.

"Would you at least look at me? For Christ's sake, Sherlock!" I reached out and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him upright.

"Nhn! What are you doing!?" The detective curled up in a defensive ball as his eyes struggled to adjust to the sliver of light shining through the drawn drapes.

"What am _I_ doing?! What the hell do you think _you're_ doing?! I leave you alone for three weeks and you turn into some sort of feral cat!"

"…I'm glad you missed me, doctor." A sardonic smile contradicted the ache in the aqua iris.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock." I was a bit disappointed, well, in the whole situation, actually. "C'mon, get outta bed." I gave his arm a gentle, surprisingly effective tug. The weary man sat on the edge of his desultory bed and looked at me pathetically. His hollow cheeks seemed more prominent than before, and his arm revealed a slight tremor.

"How long have you been like this…? C'mon, you're going to go eat something." I gave another slight tug, but this time, it was met with resistance.

"John, leave me be. I'll be alright." His head hung low between hunched shoulders as he pulled his arm out of my grasp. A horrified look swept onto my face.

"God, tell me you're not using again…." I sat down beside him on the bed and placed a hand on his wilted shoulder. "Sherlock." I gave him an unwavering stare.

"I'm clean, John… Stop your worrying." The voice was shaky and less than reassuring. His head rose slightly, but then fell again before our eyes could meet.

"Look at me." I hadn't used this tone with him in a long time. I reached out and pulled his chin in my direction. I waited for his gaze to make it to my eyes. "What's this about…? Tell me what's going on."

For a moment, all he did was shake his head, left to right, and smile. It wasn't his typical smile of amusement, but something much more genuine. He was hurting, a lot. "It's really nothing, John. It's just…" His gaze fell and went distant.

"It's just what?"

"I just… want you to enjoy your trip." His tone wavered as he looked up at me again, fighting back a single tear.

"Sherlock… What _are _you going on about?"

"Go." He sat up and sniffed back the well of emotions that had sprung from deep inside and put on his best fake smile. "Have fun with your wife. You'll be late. I'm fine, really." He would be convincing if he hadn't just been on the verge of tears.

"Do really expect me to believe this? This little act of yours?" I leaned back and looked him up and down.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Look at yourself—you're a mess!" He looked down at his dressing gown and his trembling hands and then back to me.

"Oh, this… right. Well, I was out with Anderson at the pub, had a bit of a late night. You understand."

My patience was wearing thin. I refused to indulge him any further and gave him the furrowed eyebrow stare.

"..Why can't you just accept the fact that everything is okay, and go catch your flight?"

"Because it _isn't_ okay! In fact, _nothing_ is okay!" I stood up as my voice rose to a shout. "What is it with you?! You are constantly telling the truth when it isn't welcome, and the one time I ask for your honesty, you go around with this crap about drinking with Anderson?!" My rant had lead me to pacing the cramped room. "Mrs. Hudson told me she hasn't seen you in days. The flat is a complete wreck. You haven't been eating. There are circles under your eyes big enough to eclipse the moon. And you're telling me to enjoy my trip…? Do you realize how bloody arrogant you are?!" He sat silently with his head down, probably ignoring me. "… And you're right, I _do _have a plane to catch, so if you would be so kind as to tell me what the _hell_ is wrong wi-

"John." I froze as I felt an icy hand grab my wrist. He had risen from the bed silently and now towered over me. He stepped closer to me and put his other hand on my shoulder, spinning me around to face him. "I miss you." The gray eyes shifted between my gaze and the floor. "It's hard for me, losing my only friend."

His hand had fallen from my shoulder to my forearm and was now using me to hold himself up. He gripped tightly to try and maintain his balance.

"O-okay." I reciprocated the hold on his arm for support. "Look, Sherlock, I may not be living here with you, but I am still around to…" The severity of his words only occurred to me when I looked up to see tears fall from sharp cheekbones."… 'the fuck am I saying? Damn it, I've missed you too."

I took my free arm and wrapped it around him, pulling his body into mine, forcing him to release his stabilizing grip on my arm to do the same. He immediately curled his long arms around me and began sobbing into my shoulder.

We must've stood there for ten, fifteen minutes until he became even more unsteady and his knees failed to uphold him. I caught him and carefully walked him back to the bed.

Don't worry Sherlock… There will always be another flight to catch.


End file.
